Rehab
by Distance
Summary: "My eyes are blind to almost everything you see. And I'm drowning through sorrow, but you recognize me…" A protracted version of the confrontation between Cloud and Vincent in the Forgotten City. NOT VINCENTXCLOUD. Kinda sorta part of Nola.


A/N: This can be considered part of **Nola**, but I didn't think it really fit the style. The Turks aren't in it (sort of the whole point of Nola). And, honestly, I'm not entirely confident in the quality of this. I feel like I'm going out on a limb by adding to a scene (and heavily editing said scene) that was fully shown in the movie, which I guess officially crosses the line in the realm of AU. Also, this is probably the furthest (and most blatantly) I'll trek as far as incorporating musical inspiration, which may technically make this a songfic – which I was desperately trying to avoid. So – here it is – separate, so hopefully it won't ruin whatever good momentum I've gotten with Nola.

**Rehab**

_Long day kill me long…_

Cloud couldn't help the gasp of pain as deceptively slender finger latched tightly around his arm. His eyes questioningly sought answers in his friend's face. Cold, knowing eyes burned a deep crimson in response.

"The stigma." With his simple answer, Vincent released his captive hold of Cloud's hidden injury. A simple answer, but those two words were anything but simple. So far from easy. The two words that seemed to be condemning most of the Planet to a slow, agonizing death sentence. It was a problem they had both been ignorant to for too long – a fact both man detested within themselves equally. "It's a symptom of alien matter infesting the body. The body tries to eliminate it and overcompensates. Inside our bodies is a current like the Lifestream. That current is what fights off any malevolent intruders."

If he could find it within himself to ignore the gravity of the situation for a moment, Cloud might have felt the urge towards a wry, lopsided smirk. Vincent was normally such a stoic man, especially in his communications. One word answers where others might have rambled at length. Silence the only answer to questions he deemed rhetorical – the vast majority of them. Always taciturn, except when the situation otherwise necessitated.

Cloud had been one of the few to hear the impossibly older man speak at length. Vincent always seemed willing to step outside his comfort zone when they had truly needed him. And if he had any information that might help in the struggle against this disease, Valentine may very well be the most necessary man living.

"What do you mean by intruder?"

"The Sephiroth gene. Jenova's memetic legacy." Vincent's voice trailed off, becoming almost whimsical. Perhaps it was an overactive imagination, spawned from such an uncharacteristic move on Vincent's part, but Cloud couldn't help but hear a wealth of unshed emotion behind those words. It seemed they all had some strange connection to Jenova. Some more obscure than others, but it was there. Not for the first time, Cloud wondered at his strange friend's connection to that mess. "Call it what you want. "

"You're well-informed."

Vincent likely would have heard an underlying hint of suspicion had the words come from anyone else. And that isn't to say it wasn't his natural reaction. He had simply learned over time to not waste his efforts. If he had learned nothing else of his one time leader, it was that Cloud was straight forward. Often times to a detriment – but perhaps it was better still than the alternative. Vincent's alternative. The king of thieves and shadows, trained and mastered in the underhanded arts. It wasn't the first time in the past years that Vincent likened himself to the shadows cast by and in contrast of the star-rivaling brightness of Cloud's intentions.

"Tseng and Elena. They were brought here half-dead. They must have been brutally tortured. I did what I could to save them... but, well, we'll see."

It was then that Vincent retreated back within himself, tuning out the trite confrontation between Cloud and the child searching fruitlessly for the young man's protection, perhaps even his approval. Marlene, was it? Yes, Barret's adopted daughter that had apparently been passed on to Cloud. The mundane squabbles of a tumultuous home life were beneath – or perhaps beyond, he thought ruefully – Vincent's notice. The ever present Turk, the undying strategist that refused to relinquish Vincent's mind, worked endlessly and unnoticed. So fervently was he analyzing the past few days, planning the days ahead, that even his own responses to the conversation at hand went unregistered in Vincent's consciousness.

That is, until Cloud's question, innocuous and innocent to the casual observer, disarmed the Turk and left him wondering.

"Are sins ever forgiven?

_Be me for a change, under the silk, in a box of pine…_

Perhaps Cloud was more adept at subtlety than Vincent realized. If he meant to hide an obvious gut-punch beneath simple words, Cloud had found greater success than Vincent would care to admit.

Are sins ever forgiven? Vincent was a master of knowledge when it came to sin. But forgiveness? Perhaps atonement, or the fruitless search thereof. The ignorant young man still living in the darkest recesses of the ex-Turk's mind might have a thing or two to say in regard to redemption, if that nonexistent day should ever miraculously find its way into Vincent's life. Forgiveness? The world which could grant Vincent's sins' forgiveness, along with those that lived in it, had ceased to exist somewhere along the thirty years of eternal punishment.

_Not a single other life will ever have felt my price…_

Vincent held no illusions of knowing the inner turmoil of his former ally. The ex-Turk's sins had been laid bare for the world to see – impossible for him to delude himself about their existence, their accurate marring of his slate. For what end did this young man concern himself with forgiveness? Vincent was not so romantic as to overlook the many faults and missteps that Cloud left in the wake of his self assigned and foolish quest to save a world not worthy of salvation – but the man had simply followed the path laid before him. And the man had been successful where all others would have surely failed.

Despite appearances, or Cloud's apparent assumptions, an ocean of difference lay between their situations. Simply stated, forgiveness was no longer an option for Vincent – if it had truly ever been.

"I've never tried."

* * *

><p><em>Long day lay me low…<em>

Fenrir rumbled to life as Marlene crawled on diminutive legs to join Cloud on the priceless bike, but a wayward thought stayed his hand on the accelerator. Beyond the mysterious man's seemingly endless wealth of factual strategy, there was one thing Cloud held with regard above all the man's other traits. Facts can be learned. Even the man's immaculate sharp shooting skills and cunning strategic prowess could be taught over time. There was one thing, though, that couldn't be – it could be honed through a lifetime of depending on it for survival, but it was something you either had or you didn't. And for Vincent to have survived the life he once led, the man obviously had it. An undeniable gut instinct.

"Tell me, Vincent, do you trust him?"

A long moment passed between the to – Cloud's head only slightly turned towards his shoulder, not quite able to meet the man's gaze – Vincent's eyes glued to the bare path he stood upon, unwilling to meet Cloud's. With a slight shake of his head, Cloud's hand tightened and twisted the handle in his grip, sending Fenrir roaring with life. He was sure Vincent would fall back into the comfort of silence that he had stepped out from for far too long already when the man's low murmur cut through the bike's noisy exhaust.

"As I trust you."

Cloud fought to keep his features from reacting – stoic, emotionless, _Vincent_-ish. The dark shadow over his usually luminescent eyes betrayed his hurt. Even if he couldn't see the pain so readily displayed, Vincent could feel it.

He really didn't wish to elaborate, but Vincent had built a tenuous understanding with his former AVALANCHE leader – one he would have preferred to avoid tarnishing. Normally not the type of concern intense enough to actually persuade Vincent into action, even if it displeased him, but there were other reasons to motivate such an act. Cloud was the type of man to act… unwisely, when his frustrations got the best of him. Vincent had the nagging suspicion that, despite the help that would surely come his way, this mess would land itself squarely on the young man's shoulders. Always the dutiful, if usually unwilling, leader.

"I trust all men to serve their own purposes."

Cloud was left wondering, not for the first time in the two years since they had met, about the man who stood behind from him. Cloud liked to think he knew Vincent better than the others did, but that still wasn't saying much. Something, as miniscule as that something might be, was better than nothing.

In truth, he knew Vincent hardly more than a stranger when you considered actual facts. He could count on one hand the details of the man's past that he knew. But there was always something there, the tingling sensation of true trust. Perhaps it was born out of the same thing that bound them all together – the unity of those wronged by ShinRa. Whatever it was, the uneasiness that permeated the rest of AVALANCHE's relationship with Vincent honestly never really reared its head when Cloud considered the man. Early on, Vincent's quiet nature put Cloud's mind to rest. So few were his words that Cloud couldn't imagine such a man wasting his efforts on deception.

Nevertheless, that unrest sought him out then. Not that he didn't trust Vincent's words – but the manner in which he assumed the man came by those words. In that moment, he wasn't talking to his old fighting partner, nor was he speaking to the man so hurt by the actions of a madman – not the man Cloud always felt could silently understand the pain of a lost love. He was talking to Vincent Valentine, the Turk.

And with that realization, Cloud steeled all of his nerves against the impulse to simply open Fenrir up and leave the fearful visage of a man entirely too capable of striking fear in the ex-SOLDER's heart in the dust. But now was not the time for fear – certainly not the time for an unwarranted fear of a valuable ally.

"After all this time, I thought you would know me better than that. My fault for the assumption, I guess."

Vincent quirked a brow in silent, rhetorical question. Had the young man taken his words for offense? Had this man become quite as emotionally unstable as the rumors would suggest? Unfortunately for Cloud, Vincent had neither the time nor the inclination to appease the man's apparently easily bruised ego. There were matters that needed tending, and they had no spare effort, no leftover concentration to spare dwelling on insecurities. What Vincent wouldn't give to have Tifa there to bolster the brooding blonde.

With a silent sigh, Vincent searched his cold heart for something akin to reassuring, resigning himself to the unfortunate yet necessary task. "All men serve their own purposes, but not all purposes are selfish. Some are honorable. Some are noble."

"You think his are?"

A silence that the now seemingly distant rumble of the motorcycle poised beneath Cloud's weight couldn't quite penetrate stretched between the two. Rufus ShinRa was many things. He was most certainly not the man whose footsteps he followed. Vincent detested the former President in his days as a Turk, but for a host of reasons not pertaining to his son. If what information he had gathered in the past two years were accurate, it seemed the young heir to the ShinRa legacy wasn't quite the man he would become yet. But amidst a slew of other adjectives, neither honorable nor noble were words Vincent could justifiably use to describe Rufus.

He would have to choose his words carefully, though. Not quite willing to lie, Vincent could only hope Cloud would see reason. "Have you seen him?"

"Yeah." Cloud couldn't stop his mind from replaying the scene. Rufus was many despicable things, but cowardly was not one of them. At every run in with AVALANCHE, the man held his head high – proudly – even willingly engaging Cloud in battle. Something he could not say for any of the other ShinRa family members. But now, the man seemed broken, defeated… humble, in that certain, ShinRa brand, arrogant form of humility. "He asked me to do just what I'm doing now. Hence the concern."

"Then surely you noticed." Those two words that seemed to be the center of attention worldwide, or at the very least the center of their current meeting, passed silently between the two. The stigma. "Rufus is the definition of self-serving. I trust him to continue to keep his personal gain as the focus of his actions. Right now, he needs you to succeed as much as any child in Edge. For now, he poses you no threat. He's just another of Jenova's victims."

"I guess I'll just have to take your word for it.'

_Yeah, just one more time…_

_My eyes are blind to almost everything you see… _- Down, "Rehab"


End file.
